


What You Choose

by QueerImagination (overanxiousManiac)



Series: Healing [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Choices, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), before and after the after credits scene, mentions of abuse, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-29
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-10 20:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7005508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overanxiousManiac/pseuds/QueerImagination
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re right. We don’t know how long it’s gonna take to find someone to fix things. But that doesn’t mean you have to...throw everything away until we do. Bucky-- listen. You deserve...you deserve a chance. To figure things out. To have a life to-- to exist for more than just a mission. You deserve so much more.” There’s an urgency in Steve’s voice. Bucky doesn’t want to hear his next words. “I just want you to try. To give it a chance before you decide that going under is the right thing."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“C’mon Buck. We can’t...stop now.”

Steve struggles to carry Bucky through the snow. Feet dragging, Bucky sway’s from side to side, off balance because of his lack of a left arm. Steve braces Bucky against his own body, using every bit of strength he has left to keep moving forward. Every muscle in his body ached as he went, but he can’t stop. He knows that he has to get Bucky to safety. 

The icy wind beats against the exposed skin of Steve’s face. He squints in order to see through the swirling snow. Bucky groans against his side and Steve grips him tighter.

“Bucky, are you still with me?” 

Bucky nods jerkily, trying his best to keep in step with Steve. Bucky lifts his head and looks forward. Steve watches the way that Bucky’s chin juts out defiantly and he almost smiles. He knows that Bucky won’t give up without a fight.

“Steve.” Bucky grits through his teeth. 

He stops walking. Steve’s confused but he follows Bucky’s line of sight, and that’s when he sees him.

Steve nods carefully. “Your Highness.”

T’Challa lays his mask down in the snow and slowly rises, hands raised non threateningly. He bows politely to the two beaten men before him.

“Captain,” T’Challa finally speaks. “Sergeant Barnes--I am not here for a fight.” He confesses. “The real culprit has been apprehended; I am here to bring you to safety.” 

Steve tightens his grip around Bucky’s waist. “Gotta admit-- not a lot of places are too safe for us right about now.”

“I am aware. I am deeply sorry for all of the trouble that has been brought upon you.” T’Challa answers softly. “I can provide sanctuary, for both of you. After everything that I have done, I owe you this. And more.” 

Steve is apprehensive. He can feel Bucky tensing up against him, preparing for a fight. Steve, too, would not back down if that’s what it came down to. No matter how beat-up they were, he wouldn’t let anything happen to Bucky if he could help it. He would fight into the end to protect his friend.

“Why should we believe you? Only hours ago, you were trying to kill Bucky.” Steve shakes his head. “I can’t let you do that.”

“And I won’t.” T’Challa tells him. “Sergeant Barnes is not the man who killed my father. I know of my mistakes, and I intend to atone for them. Please, forgive me, and allow me to help you. I am a man of honor--I will not betray your trust.”

Steve can taste blood in his mouth, coppery and bitter. He feels Bucky’s body sagging more and more every passing second. He looks at T’Challa, whose hands are still raised in the air, who wears a thoughtful, humbled expression on his face. It’s evident that he means them no harm. Steve heaves out a heavy breath and starts toward T’Challa, holding onto Bucky as carefully as he can. The man leads them to his very own quinjet, which has just enough space to hold the three of them. 

T’Challa pilots. Steve and Bucky sit behind in the small compartment, both on the floor, both battered. A permanent grimace has found its way to Bucky’s face. He’s gritting his teeth, breathing raggedly, and Steve can tell that he’s trying to bear the pain where his left arm used to be. Steve can’t imagine the pain--having something torn from his body, his muscles, his nerves--he can’t imagine the agony. And he can’t watch his friend struggling any longer. Steve drags himself over to Bucky, ignoring the throbbing in his chest--he’s sure there’s more than one broken rib there. He sits on Bucky’s right side and lays one hand on his forearm before he looks him in the eye.

“Just breathe.” Steve tells him. “You’re gonna get through this.” He pauses. “We’re gonna get through this.”

“Hey,” Bucky grounds out, mouth full of blood. “You ain’t gotta...treat me like a kid. Not that broken.” He argues. Steve can see the determination in his eyes, the stubbornness that he’d always admired and emulated all his life. He cracks a smile. 

“Sure.” Steve agrees. He still reaches for Bucky’s hand and holds it tight.

Bucky doesn’t let go. 

*

When they arrive in Wakanda, he and Steve are immediately transported to a research facility, of which T’Challa assures them is completely safe. Bucky can tell that T’Challa wants to help, but he isn’t ready to trust him just yet.

On stretchers, he and Steve are brought into a room that resembles a hospital room. Immediately, Bucky tenses. He uses his arm to pull himself straight up, never mind the pain, never mind his aching bones. The doctors can see the frantic look in his eye, like an animal, caged, and they step back, giving him space. That’s when Bucky feels a hand on his arm again, gripping him, holding it. It can only be Steve-- no one else would touch him.

“They’re not here to hurt you.” Steve assures him. “But you’ve gotta let them get a better look at that shoulder, Buck.” Bucky wants to protest, but Steve shakes his head. He holds Bucky’s hand. “I’ll be here. Whole time.”

“Captain Rogers, you too have severe injuries.” Speaks a female doctor. Her Wakandan accent is thick, but her voice is soft, and calm.

Steve doesn’t acknowledge her. He only looks at Bucky.

“I’ll be here the whole time.”

He doesn’t leave. Bucky knows that Steve is hurt too, just by the way he’s breathing, sharp intakes, like he can’t take a full breath. His face is pale, like he’s lost a lot of blood, and not even the super-soldier serum can heal him fast enough. Bucky wants to tell Steve to leave, to get himself fixed, but he can’t pretend like he doesn’t want Steve with him. He doesn’t trust these doctors but if Steve does, that means they won’t hurt Bucky.

The doctors stop the pain in Bucky’s shoulder. They seal up the gaping hole and neatly set a cap over the exposed metal. He spends one night in the hospital bed and, that night, Steve is with him, asleep at his side in a not-so-comfortable chair, and still holding on. That night, Bucky listens to Steve’s even breathing and tries to match his.

That morning, the doctors force Steve to get checked out. As much as Bucky doesn’t want him to leave, he knows it’s for the best. 

Bucky is transported to a smaller room, one with no machines, no wires, and no needles. It’s small, designed for patients, but it’s quiet. It feels safe.

Wakanda, hidden in the heart of a thick jungle, seems safe. The facility is heavily guarded. Here, the noise of the city is lost to the jungle’s density, too far off to disturb the music of nature.

The day comes without conflict. The night passes without war.

Bucky doesn’t sleep. 

Some part of him knows that Wakanda is safe. From Stark, from Ross, and the entire United States government. Safe from the Media, and from the rest of the world, who would like nothing more than to have Bucky behind bars. Or worse. 

T’Challa promises security and asks for forgiveness.

And yet, this does not bring Bucky peace.

He can hear everything here. From the birds chirping outside, to the guards pacing just outside the facility, to Steve Rogers’ slow breathing in the other room, two doors down. The sounds keep Bucky awake, just like the slow-seeping memories in his battered brain. Fear keeps him awake. Guilt, to. Howard Stark’s eyes. All of their eyes, staring down at him, haunting him behind his closed eyelids. He can only imagine how much worse it would be if he were dreaming. 

He watches the birds from the large window in the small room and fights the urge to run. 

It’d be better if I was back under, Bucky thinks to himself. It would be better if his mind was frozen, along with his body. He would be at rest. It was just like sleeping, but without dreams. He wouldn’t be haunted by memories of his murderous past. Steve, and all of his friends, would be safe from him. Steve...wouldn’t have to hide. He could go anywhere. Be anyone. Not living with the weight of harboring a criminal. If Bucky was under, Steve could have a life.

Bucky keeps watching the birds.

He wonders if T’Challa can help him.

*

Bucky doesn’t come out of his quarters for three days, and Steve knows that he can’t help. 

He’s knocked on the door at least twice a day, and he’s heard Bucky breathing on the other side, but Bucky never comes to the door. Steve doesn’t need to see him to know that he’s probably at his lowest. After barely gaining back his memories, being hunted by several government organizations, and being nearly beaten to death by the son of a man he killed, Bucky is in no place to talk.

So, Steve waits. 

He spends lots of time in the temporary quarters that T’Challa had granted him. These rooms are usually reserved for patients being seen in the facility, having only a bed, one window, a bathroom, and a small desk. Steve opens the window and draws the landscape in a tattered old notebook that he carries around. His drawings aren’t great, nothing like what they used to be, but it keeps his mind steady. 

Within one day, T’Challa comes to Steve with a proposition concerning the Raft.

It doesn’t even take a full day to free his friends.

Bucky still hasn’t come out, so Steve doesn’t tell him what they’ve done

He needs time. Steve understands that and he won’t push Bucky to do anything that he’s not ready to do. But he knows that when Bucky is finally ready to come out, everything will be different. Better. Steve can finally help him-- help him heal and help him get back to his old self. Help him smile again. Help him breathe easier. He wants his best friend to have his best chance at a second chance.

This can be his second chance. 

*

When Bucky finally leaves his quarters, he seeks T’Challa out. It doesn’t take very long to find him. One of T’Challa’s many labs is on the same floor, and Bucky can all but hear the man’s heartbeat, which leads him there. T’Challa greets him warmly. Not surprisingly, Bucky’s first instinct, after all this time, is to attack. But he fights the programming. 

Bucky tells T’Challa that he’s ready to go back into cryofreeze. 

“It’s safer.” Bucky admits, to T’Challa and to himself. “The world will be safe from me.” And I will be safe from them. “It makes sense.”

Bucky watches the expression on T’Challa’s face contort into one of pity. Bucky has seen this expression before, but only on the face of Steve Rogers. It’s an expression of pain, sorrow, and helplessness.

“I understand.” T’Challa speaks softly, slowly. “This is a critical decision, Sergeant Barnes. One that should not be made with haste, or without consideration.” The intention behind his words is telling. Bucky didn’t need to read too much into it to know exactly what he meant.

“Steve isn’t going to agree.”

“I wouldn’t imagine so.” T’Challa replied. “However, it is your choice. Even if the Captain disagrees.” He locks his hands together behind his back. In an instant, Bucky thinks of at least ten different ways he could kill a man with an exposed chest. 

He shakes his head and fights his programming. 

“We have the technology to keep you safe from harm and in cryofreeze until we find a way to rid you of Hydra’s design.” He drops his chin, giving Bucky the same knowing look as before. “In the meantime, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Understood.”

Bucky leaves T’Challa’s lab. He walks to Steve’s quarters and, from behind the door, Bucky can hear him breathing. It’s slow, steady, and even--the breathing pattern of someone in a deep sleep. Bucky lifts his hand to knock but immediately thinks twice. Sleep--rest--is valuable. He should know, being that he hasn’t gotten either for as long as he can remember. He touches the door gently, closing his eyes as he memorizes the pattern of Steve’s breathing. Behind these walls, Steve is safe. From everything. From Bucky.

Bucky has always had every intention on keeping Steve out of harm’s way, so that’s what he’s going to do, no matter what Steve says, no matter what he does. Bucky knows that he’s dangerous, a liability. In order to keep Steve safe, he has to go under. There is no other option. 

He knocks on Steve’s door. He listens as Steve drags himself out from under the sheets and takes a deep breath, before he pads barefoot to the door. Bucky takes a step back and he waits until the door opens, and he is faced with a half-asleep, bruised, exhausted man. Steve wears shorts and a white t-shirt, and Bucky can see the black and blue bruises on his legs, arms, and even his face. Even the super-soldier serum couldn’t heal all. 

“Bucky.” Steve immediately straightens up at the sight of him. “Hey.” His greeting is as awkward as it is wearied. 

“Steve.” Bucky replied. “There’s something we should discuss. Maybe when you’re,” he motioned to Steve, waving his hand back and forth. “More awake.” 

“I’m awake.” Steve replies. He watches Bucky closely, calculatively. Bucky’s skin crawls underneath Steve’s gaze. 

Bucky doesn’t want to do this.

Steve fought for him, disregarded the mandate of 117 nations, just to keep Bucky safe from harm, and alive. He’s lost friends and he hurt people, all for Bucky’s sake. And now, Bucky wants to go back under. No, he needs to go back under. Steve won’t like this. Steve won’t like this at all.

“Here, just come inside.”

Steve puts on more clothes and Bucky doesn’t watch. Instead, he stares out of the enormous window that takes up much of the wall in Steve’s quarters. From here, Bucky can see nothing but green. Colorful birds take up residence in their branches, and soar across the bluest sky he’s ever set eyes on. The sound of rushing water in the distance calms him. He unclenches his fist. Steve’s notebook is open on the desk beside the window. Bucky touches the paper, feeling the roughness of it underneath his fingertips. He doesn’t take note of the drawing, just feels the pages. 

“How’s your--?”

Immediately, Bucky turns to see Steve motioning toward the cybernetic stump of what’s left of his arm. He shrugs.

“Doesn’t hurt.”

Steve’s face is still flushed from sleep. Bucky tries to ignore his ruddy cheeks, puffy eyes, and tousled hair. It’s all distracting. He shuts his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. 

“I need to go back under.” The words leave his mouth before he can even get a grip on them. He looks at Steve’s face and watches his expression go from confusion straight to horror. Bucky keeps going, before Steve can get a word in. “I know what you’re going to say.”

Steve’s face is more composed now, emotions hidden behind the mask of his face. Yet, his lips are still pressed to a thin line before he speaks. 

“How could you possibly know what I’m going to say?” Steve asks in a steadied voice. He’s trying to stay calm, Bucky can see that much. 

“You’re going to tell me that it’s a bad choice. You’re gonna say that I’ll be safe here, and that we’ll find a way to fix me, but it’s not true, Steve.” Bucky shakes his head, squaring his jaw. “No one here is safe from me-- my head is a mess. I don’t know what I’ll do. No one is safe.” Not even you.

Steve stands in the middle of the room, breathing as slowly and calculatively as he possibly can. He takes a step toward Bucky but immediately takes one back. He clenches and unclenches his fists as his face and ears begin to redden and heat up. Bucky’s body immediately prepares for assault, for attack, but he calms himself, remembering that this is Steve, and that Steve would never hurt him. Not the way that he was hurt before.

“Buck--” Steve catches himself, shaking his head again. “I just--I just got you back.”

Bucky can’t look at him. Steve’s face is that of a broken man, painful, filled with sorrow. He’s never been good at hiding his emotions for long. Bucky takes to staring at the floor, at the swirling patterns in the marble. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve.” Bucky assures him, still not meeting his gaze. “Just...to sleep. Until someone can fix…” Bucky motions toward his temple, his head. “All this.”

Steve is still silent. Bucky doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to comfort him. Bucky knows he’s supposed to be Steve’s best friend, and he knows he’s not supposed to make Steve feel like this, but there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing. He wishes things were different. He wants things to be different. 

“You’ve thought about this for a while.” Steve finally speaks. 

Bucky nods once, saying nothing. 

“I’ve been thinking about things, too.” Steve tells him. “About you-- about us.” Steve looks so nervous and as Bucky’s watching him, all he can see is the 90-pound kid from Brooklyn, skinny, anxious, and unsure of himself. This, he remembers. So much of that Steve, he remembers. 

“You’re right. We don’t know how long it’s gonna take to find someone to fix things. But that doesn’t mean you have to...throw everything away until we do. Bucky-- listen. You deserve...you deserve a chance. To figure things out. To have a life to-- to exist for more than just a mission. You deserve so much more.” There’s an urgency in Steve’s voice. Bucky doesn’t want to hear his next words. “I just want you to try. To give it a chance before you decide that going under is the right thing. You have to know that cryofreeze isn’t your only option.”

“Safest option.” Bucky tells him. 

“It’s not the best option, Buck.” Steve is so stubborn, so pig-headed. Bucky remembers that. Steve’s stubbornness got them into a lot of trouble back in the day. Stupid kid never knew when to back down. Nothing’s changed. 

“Just try. Just give me-- just give it a chance.” Steve’s mind is already made up, just like it is when he goes into anything.

Bucky wants to argue, he wants to fight, but he knows that, above all else, he wants to be with Steve, in whatever capacity that is.

“Think about it?” Steve pleads.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He backs out of Steve’s room without another word.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve doesn’t see Bucky for days. He doesn’t seek him out, knowing that he may have crossed a delicate line when he asked Bucky to stay. Steve would never forget the way that Bucky’s face went blank when Steve asked him to give this--life--a chance. Bucky had gone silently, not even glancing back. Steve had not followed him. He knew better; space is what Bucky needs.

He can respect that.

Natasha calls.

Steve informs her of the latest developments for the Avengers gone rogue. After Steve and T’Challa freed them from the Raft, T’Challa used a number of his connections to provide safe houses for them. Scott Lang and Sam Wilson were in London, and Clint and Wanda in Venice. Sam, however, had apparently arranged to be sent to Wakanda. No matter where they were, Steve was just glad that they were all safe and out of harms way.

“What about you? Where are you now?” Steve asks. He listens to Natasha sigh contentedly on the other line.

“You know better than to ask that, Cap.” Steve can almost hear her smiling through the phone. “You doing okay?”

Steve nods, even though Natasha can’t see. “Better.” He admits.

“And Barnes?”

“He’s alive.” Steve says. “So there’s that.”

Natasha pauses. “That bad, huh?”

“He wants to go back under. I asked him to reconsider.” Steve takes a deep breath, shutting out the memories of Bucky’s pained, torn expression, and shutting out the memory of him walking out the door. “I can’t let him do it, Nat.” Steve says. And he means it.

“Does he know?” Natasha asks.

“Know what?”

Natasha huffs. " _Steve_." _  
_

“Oh.” He pauses. He already feels his face heating up. He shakes his head. “No... I haven’t told him. Haven’t found a good time.”

Natasha laughs softly on the other line. “There’s never a good time for declarations of love, Cap.” She tells him. “Anyway--gotta go. Look after Barnes. And Wilson.”

“Always do.”

The line clicks. Steve stows the burner phone away in a bag, filled only with his uniform, or what was left of it. He doesn’t have many belongings these days. He owns the plain white shirt on his back and his blue jeans, now. Steve’s never been a materialistic man, but sometimes he wishes he had things. Anything.

He puts Natasha’s words away, too.

She knows just how Steve feels about Bucky, and how it’s affected him over the years, knowing that Bucky was out there, alone, and in danger. Steve has mourned for his friend far too many times.

That same day, Sam arrives. T’Challa welcomes him, too, with open arms, despite everything that’d happened. When Sam sees Steve, his face brightens up, as if he hadn’t seen him only a week ago, when Steve set him free. Sam hugs him-- _tight_ \--because when Steve had gotten them out of the Raft, there’d been no time for sentiments. He set them free and, with the help of T’Challa, had gotten them as far away from the Raft prison as possible. T’Challa put them all on jets that would leave the States, that night. At the time, Steve had no idea where they were being sent, but just knowing that they were out of harm’s way was good enough for him.

“Good to see you again, Cap.” Sam claps Steve’s back roughly. “Didn’t think it’d be this soon though.”

“Neither did I.” Steve admits. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

“All thanks to you--And T’Challa.” Sam pauses, laughing softly. “And Natasha.”

“What took you so long to get here--after the Raft, I mean?” Steve asks him.

Sam just grins. “Had to lay low for a while. This pretty face draws attention now that I’m a wanted man.”

*

“Okay. You asked him not to go back under. But what are you gonna _do_ Steve?"

“I don’t know!’ Steve drags his hands along the length of his face, sighing. “I don’t _know_ , alright. I just--I wish he’d talk to me. I don’t know what’s going on up there, for him.”

“Neither does he, probably.” Sam shrugs. “The guy’s been through a lot. Maybe he doesn’t want to--you know--keep going through it by himself.”

“He’s my best friend, Sam. I’ll be damned if he’s ever alone again.”

*

Sam and T’Challa actually get along very well, once they get over the whole cat thing, that is. Sam finds himself interested and amazed by the technology of T’Challa’s suit. Steve is glad for that, and glad that he has a moment to sneak away while the two others are engrossed in conversations about vibranium and adding talons to Sam’s getup.

It’s time to talk to Bucky. It’s been days and Bucky hasn’t come out of his room. Not only is Steve worried about his mental state, but he has a feeling that Bucky hasn’t been eating, either. He wants to make sure that his friend is okay, and even if they don’t discuss the whole ‘I don’t want you to go back into cryofreeze’ thing, Steve just wants to see him, and to know that he’s still breathing in there.

Steve goes to the room that Bucky stays in. He doesn’t even need to get close to know that Bucky’s right behind the door. He hears him, shuffling back and forth inside the room. Steve pauses in front of the door for just two seconds before squaring his shoulder and giving it two rapid knocks. It takes Bucky a moment to open the door. Steve hears him breathing behind it for a short moment before he wrenches it open.

“Buck.” Steve nearly breathes his name. “You haven’t--well--you’ve been in here for a while.”

“Yeah.” Bucky stares down at the ground. He holds himself steady by gripping the door frame.

Steve gulps. He realizes now that he’s come to Bucky half-cocked and without a plan. He clears his throat and scratches his head, trying and failing at finding the right words. This time, it’s Bucky who speaks first.

“I thought about what you said.”

“You did?” Steve asks incredulously. Not because he didn’t believe that Bucky would actually reflect on their last conversation, but because he’s so _hopeful_ that he can’t keep it together. Steve already feels his palms sweating as he awaits Bucky’s response.

“Yeah.” He answers again, in the same plain tone as before. “I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, Steve.” Bucky’s eyes flick up to meet Steve’s now. “You want me to stay but--you don’t know what I could do to you, Steve. To anyone.” He pauses. “And where would we even go? I’m a criminal. Everyone’s looking for me.”

“No one will find you here.” Steve cuts in.

“No. But I can’t stay here forever. As much as I appreciate T’Challa’s hospitality, if I’m awake, I can’t stay here forever.”

Steve huffs, frustrated. “We might not be able to go back to the states, Buck. But that doesn’t mean this won’t blow over elsewhere, in countries that had nothing to do with the Accords.”

“Steve, I’m not going to make you run.”

“I’d run for you, Bucky--Christ, I’d marathon my way to _hell_ for you. You’re my best friend, Buck. You knew me before all this.” Steve motions to his body, insinuating the effects of the super soldier serum. “You’ve gotta know that I’d do just about anything for you. Always have. Always will.”

Bucky purses his lips, sighing and letting his hair fall in front of his eyes. Steve noticed the way his hair sticks and clumps together and he wonders just how long it’s been since Bucky actually showered.

“But where would we _go_ , Steve?” Bucky repeats.

“Nowhere, for a while. Here. Wakanda.” Bucky opens his mouth to protest but Steve keeps talking. “I’ll figure the rest out just. Just give this a chance, Bucky.”

Bucky sighs, standing straight up, straightening his shoulders and wincing. Steve immediately feels unsure of himself. Unsure of his decision. He doesn't want to keep pushing this if Bucky truly doesn't want it, but he'll be damned if he doesn't try. He'll be damned if he doesn't show Bucky that there are choices, now. He has choices.

“I’m trusting you, Steve. I am.”

“I’m not gonna let anyone get their hands you, Buck.” Not again. Not ever again.

“Sure.” Bucky says. “And try not to let me get my hands on anyone else.”

*

A safe house.

When Steve asks _where's the safest place that Bucky and I can go without getting shot at?_   T'Challa offers the space. He tells him that it's small, but it's private, and it's in a place where they will be neither found nor bothered. The house had been built long ago, but every few years, T'Challa goes in himself and performs the necessary repairs and general upkeep.

Without hesitation, T'Challa gives Steve the keys, and he has a car arranged for he and Bucky that night.

Steve doesn’t know how to thank him.

He hugs him, clapping him on the back gently, and T'Challa returns the gesture.

"It's the least I can do." T'Challa tells Steve. "I owe the both of you much more. Please."

"I think this will be good for him." Steve says. 

T'Challa nods. "I believe it will be beneficial for the both of you."

Steve clutches the keys in his hand. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome." T'Challa says. "Get to know your friend again, Captain. He is still a good man. He may be broken, but he's still good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading y'all! More coming up soon--leave comments if you feel so inclined :)


	3. Chapter 3

The safe house is hidden deep within the jungle. T’Challa tells Steve that it’s very old, that it was built long ago, even before the research facility stood where it does now. It was a place for rest, a place where the Black Panther, and all of the men who wore the king’s mantle, would go when they wanted to find peace, to find sanctuary away from the noise of the city, and the pressures of leading a double life. No one knew where to find it. In fact, if Steve tried to find his way back to the facility from the safe house, he knew for a fact that he’d get desperately lost. However, he wasn’t complaining—no one would find Steve and Bucky here. They were safe.

On the outside, the house is modest. With just one visible windows and one shabby wooden door, it looks worn.

 _There can’t be more than just one room in here,_ Steve thinks to himself. However, his internal thoughts are cut short when he notices Bucky beside him, anxiously gripping the coat draped around his shoulders. Steve can’t understand why he has the thing, when its nearing one-hundred degrees in the Wakandan jungle, but he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even ask Bucky why he looks like he wants to run.

Steve walks inside first, surveying the room. His eyes are met with simplicity. The walls are bare. There’s a small kitchen nook, and a dated living room set inside this one room, but that’s all that he can see so far. At the south end of the house, there’s a door.

Steve looks back at Bucky, who seems apprehensive.

“I’m sure it’s safe.” Steve assures him. Bucky only nods curtly before following him to the door. As soon as he touches the knob, the wood of the door parts, showing a circular metal piece that resembles a peephole. Steve visibly jumps as a soft, green light scans his entire frame.

“Captain Steven Grant Rogers.” A hollow voice echoes. It reminds Steve of JARVIS. The light flashes over Bucky as well. “Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes. Recognition scan complete. Permission granted.”

The door opens into itself. Light spills out into the room and when Steve steps through the doorway, he is amazed.

*

The first thing that Bucky notices is the color of the walls. Soft blue. Warm. Non-threatening.

The safe house has the normal, essential amenities. Full kitchen. Living room. Dining room. Bathroom. Bedroom. One, if Bucky remembers correctly. The walls are lined with books and where there are no books, there are windows, vast windows.

Steve says that this part of the house is cloaked, invisible to those on the outside. Bucky is thankful for that. Back in Bucharest, his windows had been sealed shut, with newspaper taped over, so that no one could see inside. But these windows are open, and the sun shines brightly here.

Bucky is most thankful for the windows.

*

The refrigerator in the kitchen is stocked. Steve isn’t much of a cook, but he can get by well enough to not let himself starve.

Steve watches Bucky who’s still surveying the house. He can almost sense anxiety coming off of him in waves. He gives Bucky the once-over. His hair hangs against the sides of his face, clumped together, greasy and stiff. A thick sheen of sweat covers his face and neck and Steve frowns. How long has it been since Bucky had a shower? It must be hard, now that he only has one arm, so Steve wonders.

“Hey,” Steve begins, catching Bucky’s attention. “Are you hungry?”

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know.” He replies. Steve’s confused, but he doesn’t voice it. Bucky speaks again. “I could eat.”

“I’ll make something.” Steve announces. “If you want to—you know—get cleaned up beforehand, I should be done cooking by the time you’re out.” He says.

“Sure.”

Bucky walks off without another word. Steve begins to raid the refrigerator, confused by all of the foreign meats, vegetables, and fruits he’s never seen before.

After five minutes, he hears the water rushing in the bathroom at the far end of the hall.

*

Bucky showers because Steve wants him to. And as much as he hates to admit it, he probably wouldn’t have done it otherwise. He strips out of his coat—a gift from T’Challa, who’d notices that Bucky was shivering, always cold—and out of the rest of the clothes he’d been given in the facility. He is glad to shed them; the clothes stink of antiseptic and a sickly hospital smell.

Bucky figures out the shower dials and gets the water to the highest temperature that his body will allow him to endure.

When he steps inside the shower, the hot spray of water is almost therapeutic. Bucky didn’t realize just how much he’d missed hot water until he had it again. In his apartment in Romania, the water had always been cold. Before that, with Hydra, he’d be lucky if they hosed him down when they woke him, with ice-cold, freezing, piercing water. There’d been no soap, no towel, no clean clothes. Just orders. Only orders.

Bucky shuts his eyes underneath the water. He forces back the thoughts. He forces back the icy sensation crawling up his spine. It’s different here. The water is warm here, he tells himself.

There are soaps here, all different sorts. Soaps that smell like rain, and flowers, and warmth. There are shampoos that make Bucky’s scalp tingle. And conditioner. He’d forgotten about conditioner.

The towels are softer than clouds. He could spend hours just wrapped up in them.

There’s clean clothes in the bathroom, too. An assortment of shirts and sweatpants. Bucky, who always has trouble staying warm, is thankful for this. He can’t remember the last time he wore clean, normal clothes. He cringes and tries to force himself to think positively. But that never works.

Bucky stays in the bathroom for a while, seated on the closed toilet, head in his hand, just breathing.  Trying to forget all the things that are too painful to remember. Just the thoughts of warm water and clean clothes send him spiraling. He’s cold again, even though the bathroom has been warmed with steam. He can’t stop thinking about the cold water. Bucky can’t stop remembering the way they pushed him against the stone wall and sprayed him down, before the mission to wake him, and after the mission to clean the blood from his skin. In the beginning, he would scream. Though, towards the end, after all the times that it’d happened, Bucky just stood, silent, with heavy eyes. Turned when they told him to. Splayed his naked frame against the wall when they ordered. They never gave him a towel, just wiped him again and slammed him into the cryofreeze chamber.

Bucky shudders, wiping the hot tears from his eyes before they have a chance to fall.

Steve is out there, hopeful and waiting for him. Waiting for him to be _normal_ and Bucky knows he can’t manage that.

There’s no way he can do this. There’s no way he can stay awake. Not with these memories.

*

Steve’s all but finished preparing the meal when he realizes how long it’s been since Bucky left to shower. The beef, vegetables, and rice are all finished on the stove, uncovered and ready to be eaten. But Bucky hasn’t returned. Cautiously, Steve makes his way out of the kitchen, through the living room, and down the narrow hallway that leads to the bathroom. Behind it, he can hear Bucky’s ragged breathing. Steve doesn’t knock, just presses his palm and forehead against the cool, glass door as he speaks.

“Bucky.” Steve says. “Are you—are you okay?”

“M’fine.” Bucky answers, far too quickly, with a voice like gravel.

Steve grasps the door knob. “I’m coming in.”

“Wait—don’t.” Bucky protests. “Steve, don’t. I don’t want you to—I can’t. I can’t right now. I don’t want you to see.”

Steve pauses, hand still on the door knob. He doesn’t turn it. “What don’t you want me to see?” Steve asks.

“Me,” Bucky answers. “Like this.”

“I want to help, Bucky.” Steve tells him. “I wanted to come out here so that I could help you…but you’ve gotta let me in. I can’t help you if you don’t.”

“I’m beyond help, Steve. Trust me.”

“I don’t believe that.” Steve’s voice is softer now, calmer and less frantic than before. He realizes that if he wants Bucky to calm down, then he has to mirror that. “I don’t believe it for a second.” He takes a deep breath and then releases it, sighing softly. “Bucky, let me come in.”

The other man doesn’t answer for a while. Steve waits.

“Okay.” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, but Steve hears him.

He opens the door and walks into the bathroom. It’s all white and glass, clean and pristine. Bucky’s dark, wet hair, stands out in stark contrast. Steve kneels in front of him, trying to meet his gaze.

“Bucky,” Steve speaks gently. “What happened?”

Bucky just shakes his head. Steve realizes that he’s shivering violently, despite the humidity in the room. His hair is still damp, dripping onto his clean, dry clothes. Steve picks up Bucky’s discarded towel from the floor and gently reaches up to dry his locks. At first, Bucky flinches away from the contact. However, eventually he allows Steve to continue, and even leans into his hand as he dries.

“Sometimes it gets bad.” Bucky confesses. “Sometimes there’s no warning.”

“That’s okay.” Steve tells him. He cleans the water from behind Bucky’s ears. “What were you thinking about?”

Bucky shakes his head again. “I can’t—I don’t want to talk about it.”

Steve nods. “We don’t have to.”

They’re silent for a while. Even though Steve realizes that Bucky’s hair is probably dry by now, he can’t bring himself to relinquish the contact. So he stays there, with his toweled hands around Bucky’s head. Bucky’s breathing slows, no longer rapid and ragged like it was when Steve came in. Finally, Bucky reaches up to take the towel down. Instead, he finds Steve’s hand with his own. He leaves it.

“You didn’t have to do this.” Bucky tells him.

“It’s fine,” Steve says. “I wanted to.” He pauses, craning his neck to catch Bucky’s eye. Steve smiles. “I want to help you.” Bucky manages to smile too, even just the slightest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos! I hope you're enjoying this as much as I enjoy writing it. Leave a comment if you feel so inclined!


	4. Chapter 4

For the rest of the evening, Bucky sits beside the window. The window is clear and wide, giving him a view of the quiet jungle. It’s calming, being able to watch what’s going on outside. Bucky realizes, once again, just how much he’s missed windows, missed the freedom of just looking _out_. He touches the glass with his fingers, silently tracing the shapes of the trees.

He hears Steve approaching even before he speaks.

“Never had a nice view like this in Brooklyn.”

Bucky doesn’t turn, but he nods once.

“Don’t remember us having a lot of nice things in Brooklyn.” He finds himself smiling. The last time he’d smiled had been on the jet with Steve when he’d joked about something from their past. Bucky can’t quite remember what Steve had said, but he remembered laughing.

Steve sits down beside Bucky on the floor, dressed in a soft white t-shirt and black jeans. He crosses his legs and rests his elbows on his thighs as he watches Bucky, who’s still smiling.

“We had each other.” Steve’s smile mirrors his. Bucky nods once. “And you had your gals, and your dancing.” Steve teases. Bucky’s smile is hollow. His shoulder begins to ache and so he reaches up and grasps it firmly, shaking his head.

“I don’t remember a lot of that--the girls, I mean.” He admits. “It all seems so far away.”

Steve nods, as if to say that he understands.  “It was a long time ago.” He reaches out, touching Bucky’s forearm gently. “You don’t have to remember everything.”

“Mhm.” Bucky hums, sighing, still massaging his shoulder. His eyes meet Steve’s for a moment. Steve starts to smile again but Bucky turns his attention to the window once more. “Sometimes—sometimes the memories come in waves, you know? Just rushing in all at once.” He confesses. “Sometimes I’ll go days without anything. There used to be days when I’d forget…I’d forget important things.”

“Things like what?” Steve asks.

“Things from Brooklyn,” Bucky pauses. “Things from the war.” A frown begins forming on his face.

Bucky shuts his eyes for a moment, fighting away the unstable concoction of emotions stewing inside of him. Anger, shame, and anguish bubble up to the surface. Flashes of memories flicker behind his closed eyes, none of them good. Even now, he can still feel Zola’s cold, clammy hands on his skin. He can still feel their needles. He can still feel the icy cryofreeze chamber.

“—Hey,” suddenly, Steve’s voice breaks through Bucky’s painful reverie. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Bucky grounds out.

Steve purses his lips. “Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not.” He says. “I’m your friend, Buck. You can tell me about that stuff, you know?”

Bucky nods, closing his eyes again. “I know you are, Stevie.” He knows. He does. 

Steve’s eyes perk up immediately and he holds back a smile. “You haven’t called me that since we were kids.”

“I’m sorry—I don’t know where that came from.”

Steve shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You gave me the nickname, anyway.”

“I—I don’t remember that,” Bucky replies. There is a tinge of sadness in his tone. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember how you gave it to me either,” Steve begins. “I just remember, one day you started calling me ‘Stevie’ and it just stuck. Even my Ma started using it, which was embarrassing enough for a grown man. She’d always pinch my cheeks and call me her _little Stevie_ , and you’d just laugh.”

“Your cheeks.” Bucky turns to Steve with a far-off look in his eye. “Your cheeks always bruised. And your Ma always felt so bad about it. She’d always forget.”

Steve’s smile could’ve illuminated the entire room. He grins at Bucky, grins like he’s the happiest man in the whole world.

“Yeah,” He agrees. “She would.”

*

On the first night, Steve sleeps on the couch. He insists on giving Bucky the bed.

Bucky doesn’t know how to tell Steve that he doesn’t want to be alone. So he takes the bed.

*

Steve lies on the couch and thinks of the broken man only a few rooms away. He wishes that he were braver and more eloquent. Maybe if he were more outspoken, more like Sam, or Clint, he could say what he really wanted to say. He could tell Bucky the truth if he were more like them.

If Steve were more like them, he could tell Bucky that watching him by the window tonight stirred something in him that had died when he thought Bucky died. If Steve were more like them, he could tell Bucky that hearing him say _Stevie_ had almost brought tears to his eyes. If Steve were more like them, he could tell Bucky how he felt about him. About everything.

Despite being Captain America, despite being a Super-Soldier, Steve was still just a man. A man who wasn’t brave or eloquent or outspoken about his feelings. A man who couldn’t tell his best friend that he loved him.

*

In the dark, Bucky clutches the pillows and blankets to his chest.

He tries to sleep. But every time his eyes close, he’s met with torturous visions. The first time, he caught flashes of the war, watched himself falling—falling from the train. Heard Steve’s screams—

The second time, his arm ached in his sleep, and he dreamt of Armin Zola, taking it apart and putting it back together again. Taking him apart and putting him back together again—

The third and final time, he sees a girl, a girl who can’t be any older than sixteen. He doesn’t know her name, but his hands are around her throat. He hears voices that whisper _No witnesses_ as he squeezes her neck, watching the life drain out of her eyes—

Bucky’s breathing is heavy and ragged. He fights back the terror in his chest, the scream in his throat. He stares out of the window in the bedroom, just as wide as all the others.

He sees nothing, only darkness.

*

Hours have passed and Steve hasn’t slept. The couch is comfortable and the house is silent, but his mind won’t stop racing. He’s tossed and turned, sat up, laid down, switched ends, and to no avail.

Steve sits straight up, draping the blue blanket over his lap with a sigh. He pinches the bridge of his nose, silently asking the universe for sleep. However, at the sound of a door opening, his head snaps forward and his eyes fly open.

Bucky shuffles down the hallway, carrying a pillow under his arm and a blanket in his fist. He doesn’t make eye contact with Steve, just walks over to the couch and plops down beside him.

“Couldn’t sleep in there.” His voice is deeper, exhausted.

Steve sighs. He knows the feeling.

They sit in silence together, side by side, until Steve has the bright idea to turn on the television in front of them. He turns to what seems to be a movie. He doesn’t understand the Wakandan language, but he watches the movie nonetheless. Bucky watches too, but Steve notices his eyes drooping more with each passing second. Steve moves just the tiniest bit closer to him and Bucky doesn’t seem to notice. When Bucky’s head eventually dips to the side and comes to rest on Steve’s shoulder, he smiles. He breathes in Bucky’s scent, and the sweet aroma of whatever conditioner he’d used in the shower. Bucky’s breath is slow, steady, and all of the stress lines are gone from his face. Steve carefully rests his head against Bucky’s and sighs, knowing that this won’t last for long, but reveling in the peace.

 _This is enough_ , he tells himself. For tonight, this is enough. And finally, he falls asleep listening to the sound of Bucky’s breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for continuing to read! Comments are always appreciated :)


	5. Chapter 5

Bucky wakes first. Immediately, his body tenses because of the foreign weight against his right side. His eyes fly open but when he looks—really _looks_ —he realizes just who’s lying against him.

Steve’s breathing is deep and steady, and his whole chest rises with every inhalation. Bucky closes his eyes and, for a moment, tries to match Steve’s breathing just to calm his own.

It is then that Bucky realizes that this is something he has missed. Ever since Steve found him in Bucharest, moments like this started to occur. Steve will say something, do something, or simply just smile, and Bucky will realize that it reminds him of times from their past. It makes his chest ache, makes his whole mind go blank, if only for a second. He then realizes that this thing—this _emotion_ —he’s feeling is nothing short of longing. The most agonizing melancholy.

There are moments when Bucky wishes he could forget everything again, moments when he wishes he had never been forced to forget in the first place.

And he knows that if he had gone back under, he wouldn’t feel anything at all. Bucky _knows_ this.

If he was back under, the pain would cease.

But he is _trying_. Not for himself, but for Steve. Steve, who needs protection. Steve, who needs his best friend. Steve, who needs Bucky. And Bucky is trying, he _is_ , but sometimes living is just too much. Sometimes.

He leaves Steve on the couch, fast asleep. Bucky spends the rest of the early morning in the bedroom, watching the sunrise, spreading its rays over the jungle’s leafy canopy.  

Later, Steve comes inside. Bucky can smell breakfast wafting in from the kitchen. Steve asks “Will you eat?” And Bucky says yes, because Steve asks. When Steve asks “Are you going to shower?” Bucky says yes because Steve asks. And when Steve says “Let’s go outside.” Bucky says yes. He’s _almost_ reluctant, but he says yes.

*

Bucky needs sunlight. Steve doesn’t know much about body chemistry or depression, but he knows that a healthy dose of sunlight will make his friend feel better. Bucky’s skin is pasty, even ghostly, from nights spent inside, days spent covered up from the neck down. Steve had seen Bucky’s apartment in Romania, which was nothing short of the home of a recluse. But Steve knows that, back then, Bucky had been running—he hadn’t had a choice.

When they leave the safe house, Steve can tell that Bucky is apprehensive.

His first instinct is to take Bucky’s hand, to tell him that he’s safe and that everything is fine, but Steve’s never been brave enough and so instead, he says—

“This place is nothing like New York.” As if that isn’t obvious.

“Just a few more trees.” Bucky says, almost smiling. And Steve laughs and thanks God that Bucky’s still got a sense of humor.

Steve does his best to keep the conversation going as they travel through the dense jungle, avoiding all plants and wildlife that don’t look so safe and friendly.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but Sam’s here. In Wakanda. Probably with T’Challa.” Steve rambles.

Bucky seems surprised. “And the others?”

“Safe.” Steve answers. “In hiding. I know where most of them are, except Natasha. She’s…elusive.”

“I shot her, once.” Bucky pauses. “I think.” He looks to Steve and there’s a look in his eyes that Steve can’t place, a sort of softness. “I’m sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t you—not really.” Steve assures him. “It’s not your fault. And I’m sure she doesn’t blame you.”

Bucky nods once. “I’m glad your friends are alright. They did a lot for you—for me, too. They didn’t have to do that.”

“They didn’t. But they’re good people. Even the others.” Steve says. He leaves out _even Tony_ , because he’s not ready to cross that bridge.

Bucky starts to smile again. “It’s because of you, you know. You…you really bring out the best in people.”

Steve grins—he blushes—but he grins, too. “Thanks, Buck.”

Later, they stop to rest because, despite their strength, the jungle is humid and scorching and no one can comfortably withstand it for long. As they sit, Bucky’s eyes are on the trees and birds, and Steve’s…well, Steve’s eyes are on Bucky.

Bucky’s skin is turning pink where the sun has kissed it. His hair, long and unkempt, hangs to his shoulders and, every so often, Bucky sweeps it behind his ears. He’s scruffy—does he even shave anymore?—and the dark circles under his eyes are more defined than Steve has ever seen them. His posture is poor and his right hand rests on his left shoulder, lazily massaging the place where his left arm should be.

Steve watches Bucky and he wants to tell him everything. He wants to tell him that he is still perfect, still beautiful, and still loved. Even after everything. After all the fighting, the killing, after all this _time,_ still beautiful. Even through all of his pain, he is still shining. And trying to do his best. Steve knows that Bucky is still hurting but he is so thankful that he’s _trying._

“Thank you,” Steve unceremoniously blurts out.

Bucky turns and looks at him, confusion apparent in his gaze. “What did I do?”

Steve can almost _feel_ himself turning red. “Just—being here, you know? You didn’t…you could’ve told me no. You could’ve.”

“I could’ve.” Bucky agrees. “But if me being here makes you happy, I’ll do it. I’ll try my best to do that for you.”

Steve can’t hide his smile now. It’s slow, thankful, and full.

“I think things will get better.” He tells Bucky.

But Bucky doesn’t answer, because his eyes are on the sky again.

They stay out for hours, mostly silent, aside from the times where Steve rambles on about a memory or two and Bucky either responds with “I’m sorry, I don’t remember” or a shy smile when he _does_ remember.

Things seem to be going well and Steve is so _happy_ that he almost forgets that they’re still running. From everything. But he pushes that thought aside because Bucky is here. Bucky is here and he’s smiling and things are okay, in that moment. Bucky eats without Steve asking. He showers, washes his hair, changes clothes and even joins Steve on the couch for a while to watch a movie that neither of them understands. Things are almost normal. Almost.

When Bucky goes to bed, Steve sits up for hours, just reveling in the time that they’d spent together. Things are good, he tells himself. Things are good. And he believes this until later that night, he hears Bucky screaming behind the closed bedroom door.

Steve burst through the door—breaking the doorknob in the process—and finds Bucky in bed, tangled in the sheets, and gripping the side of the mattress. His eyes are closed but he shouts again, and it’s agonizing to hear. He thrashes back and forth, screaming “NO” at the top of his lungs, with all of his breath. Steve doesn’t know which demons he is fighting tonight, but he isn’t going to let him go at it alone.

Instinctively, Steve climbs into bed with Bucky and tries to grab his arm. Bucky swings in the dark, nearly catching Steve’s jaw with his fist, but Steve is quick, and he grab’s Bucky’s forearm, and pins it down against the bed.

“Bucky,” He says. “Bucky, it’s a nightmare. Bucky—wake up.” Steve stops him from thrashing and holds him tight. He struggles, because even in his sleep, Bucky is just as strong as Steve is. But Steve is determined to keep holding on. “Bucky, wake up!”

Bucky jerks awake, eyes shooting open and up at Steve.  There’s a look of absolute horror on his face.

“Oh my god,” He groans, breathing heavier than before. “Did I hurt you? What did I do?” Steve releases his arm and Bucky sits up immediately. “Steve, did I hurt you?”

“No—you were having a nightmare.” Steve answered. “I heard you…I heard you screaming.” Bucky looks down at the mattress. He covers his eyes with his hand, not able to even look Steve in the eye. The shame on his face is clear, evident. Steve frowns. “Bucky, it’s alright.”

“You would tell me, wouldn’t you? You would tell me if I hurt you, right?”

“You didn’t hurt me.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. I’m so fucking sorry—“

“Bucky—no. Why are you apologizing? You had a nightmare.” Steve tries to reassure him, but Bucky isn’t listening. He’s shaking his head, his one hand running over his hair, and he still looks frantic.

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this.” Bucky tells Steve. “All day, I’ve been trying to keep it together for you. To be normal and do normal shit but this— _this_ , I can’t control. I can’t keep the dreams away. I can’t.”

Courage and bravery be damned, Steve reaches out and takes Bucky by the arm. He pulls him forward and rests his palm on the back of Bucky’s neck. Instantly, Bucky’s whole body tenses, but Steve doesn’t let go. Even when Bucky relaxes into his arms, he doesn’t let go.

“You don’t have to keep it together. Not for me, not for anyone.” Steve whispers. When Bucky’s arms find their way around Steve’s frame, Steve speaks again. “You’ve been through hell. You can fall apart. You’re allowed. You don’t have to pretend to be okay for me. I know you’re not okay.”

Steve doesn’t make a comment when he feels Bucky’s hot tears staining the sleeve of his shirt, or when Bucky’s shoulders start shaking. He holds him—keeps holding him until Bucky pulls back. But even then, Steve doesn’t leave. He holds Bucky’s hand, just like he did in the Quinjet, and on the stretcher, and he buries his embarrassment and fear. Even when Bucky’s eyes are closed and his breathing is even again, Steve keeps holding on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all for reading, bookmarking, commenting, and giving kudos! Y'all are great :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Steve makes questionable choices because of /feelings/.

In the morning, when Bucky wakes, Steve is still lying next to him, sleeping peacefully. He’s wrapped up in all the blankets that he stole, leaving Bucky to face the cold air in the room. His face is slack, he’s snoring lightly, and all of the stress lines on his face have disappeared. Bucky, without hesitation, reaches over and takes Steve’s hand. Steve’s palm is warm, so warm, and Bucky begins to entwine their fingers because he is absolutely starved for touch and this is _Steve_ , so he doesn’t want to let go.

However, Bucky doesn’t expect Steve to wake up immediately and open his eyes. When Steve sees him, he smiles. But Bucky panics.

“Is this okay?” He quickly asks. Sure, it was okay last night, because Bucky needed it. He needed to feel safe, and Steve helped him. But it’s different now. He doesn’t need this, but he is sure that he wants it.

Steve nods. “It’s okay.”

Bucky is shivering now, and he’s not sure if it’s nerves, or cold, or both, but Steve holds out his other arm, albeit awkwardly, and says—

“Is it okay if I—you know?” He beckons Bucky forward. Bucky nods, releasing Steve’s hand and shuffling gracelessly across the bed. He won’t look at Steve when he rests his head against the man’s shoulder, too embarrassed. Even through Steve’s shirt, his body gives off so much heat. It’s comfortable, it’s _nice_. Bucky’s muscles slowly begin to relax, and he leans closer against Steve’s body.

“I remember,” Bucky closes his eyes, bring back scattered visions of Brooklyn, of Steve, but a much smaller version of him. “You were so small before, so sick all the time. And during the winter…it was always so cold. No heat in that apartment.” Bucky speaks slowly as if the words are fluttering into his mind along with the blurry memories. “And I would…I would hold you so you’d be warm, sometimes. You’d let me do that. But—we were scared whenever we did that.” Bucky finally looks up at Steve. “Why were we scared?”

Steve’s stares up at the ceiling, averting Bucky’s eyes. He sighs heavily, as if this memory is a weight on his chest.

“We didn’t want anyone to think we were—you know—queers or somethin’.”

Bucky nods, understanding. He closes his eyes again as he begins to speak.

“Well, I don’t care what anyone thinks anymore.”

It takes a while for Steve to answer. But when he does, he speaks softly.

“Neither do I.”

Bucky wants to smile, but he isn’t sure that he should. He asks. “Is it okay if we stay like this for a while?”

Steve smiles enough for the both of them. “Sure, Buck. Of course.”

And they do, for hours, each one of them falling in and out of sleep because neither of them slept enough the night before. Eventually, Bucky rests his head against Steve’s chest and listens to his steady heartbeat like it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. Even when Steve starts snoring again, Bucky doesn’t mind. He still wants this touch, this closeness, and Steve is the only person that he will ever let get this close. Bucky still remembers all of the foreign hands that have touched him and he vows to never let it happen again. Steve is familiar. Steve is _good_.

Every day for the past two years has been a constant battle for Bucky. Hiding, pretending to be someone else, never letting anyone close—he is always fighting. But right now, he can step away from his war, he can let his guard down. With Steve here, he feels like he is winning, and safe, for once.

Steve, barely awake, begins to idly run his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky instantly leans into his touch. He can sense that Steve is nervous and he wants to say “You shouldn’t be; I won’t hurt you.” But instead, he says—

“You never used to do this.” And when he does, Steve stops.

“Sorry.”

“No,” Bucky says. “It’s…it’s okay. It’s good, I think.” Bucky is so unsure of what to say, but he digs deep, and he tries to say what he feels. He takes a deep breath. “I like it.”  Steve visibly relaxes and so does Bucky. “You can keep going—if you want.”

“I want to.”

Tentatively, Steve’s fingers return to Bucky’s hair, tangling in them as he massages his scalp. Bucky cannot remember a time when he was this content, when he felt _this_ safe. His eyes fall shut again.

He’s so thankful that he trusts someone enough to let his eyes stay shut.

“Did last night help?” Steve asks. Bucky quirks a curious eyebrow. Steve begins to stutter. “I mean—me being here. Staying. In here. Did that help? With the nightmares?”

Bucky thinks back to last night, to waking up to Steve pinning him down just to rouse him from his ever-present night terrors. Steve stayed with him and, even though the nightmares came right back when Bucky closed his eyes, he wasn’t scared. In the back of his mind, he knew that Steve was still there, even as he slept. And he knew that Steve would protect him, even from his dreams.

“Yeah.” He answers.

“Should I stay tonight, then?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah.” He answers, then adds “The couch isn’t all that comfortable anyway.”

“I just don’t want to intrude on your space. Or make you uncomfortable or think that I’m trying to…take advantage of you or something—”

“—You would never take advantage of me.” Bucky tells him. “It’s not—it’s not like before, Steve. We’re here now, and I’m not scared anymore.” As he is talking Bucky looks up at Steve, just to see that Steve is already watching him. But his eyes don’t meet Bucky’s. He is looking down now, focused on Bucky’s mouth. Bucky stops talking. Steve looks up, and there is something in his eyes that Bucky cannot identify at all. Steve swallows hard and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. He looks nervous. The hand that was once in Bucky’s hair is now at the base of his neck and Bucky suddenly feels an involuntary shiver dance along his spine. His eyes drop down to Steve’s throat again—his chin, his mouth—and Bucky doesn’t notice that he’s not breathing until, from behind the door, he hears a phone ringing.

Steve lets his hand fall away from Bucky’s neck, let’s go of Bucky’s hand, and rushes out of the room without another word, leaving Bucky alone and wondering if he’d said something wrong.

*

“Calling to make sure you haven’t died out there in the jungle, Cap.”

Steve groans. “Not dead.” He says, pacing the kitchen. “Very not dead.”

“And Barnes hasn’t made a run for it?”

“No, he’s…definitely still here.”

“What’s going on? You sound weird.” Sam tells him.

Steve can tell that his voice is lower—ragged even—and so he coughs hard, clearing his throat. “Everything’s fine.”

“Uh huh,” Sam replies, unconvinced. “T’Challa wanted me to check on the both of you. He said that Barnes was _apprehensive_ about leaving the facility. He thought you’d take this better if you heard it from me, but he says to let him know when Barnes has made his decision.”

Steve stops in the middle of the kitchen, grips the counter. “His decision.” He repeats, and the words come out hollow.

“About whether or not he’s going to stay awake, or go under.” Sam pauses. “T’Challa has a chamber ready, depending on what Barnes decides.”

Steve doesn’t like the sound of that. Just thinking about it makes his chest tighten, makes his stomach churn. Here he is, trying to help Bucky, trying to show him that the world won’t be so bad to him anymore, and T’Challa is steadily preparing to put him back to sleep. Steve’s anger rises and it’s almost as if Sam senses it, because what he says douses all of the fire in Steve’s chest.

“It’s his choice, Cap. I know you love him, but you have to let him choose.”

Steve is selfish. He knows this. But he can’t help it.

“Try talking to him about it. Nobody’s saying he’ll do one thing or the other. But talking about it could help.” Sam says. “Everyone wants to help him, you know that.”

The conversation ends. Steve sits down at the kitchen table and slides the burner phone away from him. He covers his face with his hands and slowly drags them down, ignoring the agonizing weight in his chest. His heart is beating like crazy and he can't tell if he's sad, angry, nervous, or all of the above. He tries to take a deep breath but he can't even manage _that_. Nothing feels right.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Steve turns immediately, finding Bucky walking out from the hallway. The look on his face is so _sad_ that Steve begins to physically ache. He did that--he made Bucky feel like that. And he has to fix it, he _has_ to. Without thinking, Steve stands up from the table and starts toward Bucky.

“I’m sorry for whatever I said. You looked upset when you walked out, and I thought that I might’ve done something to upset you—”

Bucky’s words are silenced when Steve’s mouth falls upon his. Steve is riddled with fear but determination takes over. He takes Bucky’s hand and kisses him like he means it because he does. He kisses him like he’s scared because he is. He kisses Bucky like he doesn’t want to lose him because it’s true. He _can’t_ lose him. And maybe, Steve thinks, this will convince him. This will tell Bucky everything he’s wanted to say for decades. This will show him that there is still _good_ in the world and that he can stay here, that he doesn’t have to be put under, ever again.

Steve kisses Bucky like he loves him because he does.

He does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you ALL for reading, commenting, and for all of the awesome kudos. Y'all are so sweet and responsive and it makes my heart soar. :) I can be found on tumblr at aquaticqueer.tumblr.com if that means anything to you lol


	7. Chapter 7

It’s as if Steve’s hands are everywhere—in Bucky’s hair, on his waist, holding him, clutching him tight like it would be wrong to let him go. He whispers unintelligibly between kisses, but the muffled apologies do not go unnoticed. Bucky doesn’t know why Steve is apologizing, but he does know that Steve is _kissing him_ , and he can’t focus on anything more than that. And Bucky is kissing him back. Not because he feels like he has to, but because he _wants_ to. He reaches up and clutches Steve’s bicep because he needs something—anything—to hold onto.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispers, gripping Bucky tightly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. _I’m_ the one who did.”

Bucky slowly, reluctantly, pulls back. “But you didn’t. This isn’t wrong.” Or at least, it doesn’t feel wrong. “I wouldn’t have…I wouldn’t have kissed back if I felt like it was wrong.”

Steve pants heavily and his brow draws together.

“I’m…I’ve been so selfish.” He lowers his eyes, shakes his head. “So damn _selfish_.”

“Steve…”

“You came to me and you told me that you wanted to go back under.” Steve begins. “And ever since then, I’ve been trying to…I didn’t want to let you choose that. I wanted to convince you that it would be safe. That you’d be okay. That you could stay here with me because I…” Steve pauses and when he looks up, his eyes are glassy and glossed over. He’s shaking—Bucky can _feel_ him trembling. “Because I love you, Buck, and I don’t think that I can lose you again.”

Bucky stands in quiet shock. Steve doesn’t press him, just stares down at the wood paneling of the floor and hangs his head.

“I should’ve told you that sooner.” Steve whispers. “I’m sorry.”

Steve loves him. Steve _loves_ him. And what is Bucky to do? What is he to say? He knows that he cares about Steve, knows that he is and forever will be his best friend, and knows that the urge to protect him is stronger than his will to live. But love…love is a foreign emotion. Love was wiped from him—from the soldier—love is something _else_ , something human that Bucky cannot grasp yet.

“I want to stay with you, Steve.” Bucky finally says, slowly, in the steadiest voice he can manage. “I do. And I know that’s what you want, too. You mean so much to me—your face was in my head even when I didn’t know who you were.”

“Bucky—“

“Listen.” Bucky demands. “This? Right here? I think I—I _know_ I want this. The whole thing. You and me. But I don’t think I can, not the way I am now. I…some days I’m here, and some I’m not. Some days, I still have to wake up and remember who I am. Who _you_ are. I have…I have been unmade and put back together so many times that I don’t think I’ll be able to find all the…all the missing pieces. And you don’t deserve that.” Bucky shakes his head. “I want to give you everything you deserve, but I can’t yet. And until then, it’s just not safe for you.” Bucky can’t look Steve in the eye, but the firmness in his voice is enough to make a point. “I’m no good for you like this.”

Steve cares about Bucky so much—too much, at times—and Bucky knows this. He knows that he wants to be by Steve’s side, but in order to do that, he has to be different. Everything that made him who he was before had been taken, stolen by Hydra. Every shred of the man that used to be James Buchanan Barnes was stripped away, burned away, leaving him with tatters of memories inside the shell of a man who could’ve been a hero. Leaving him with the shell of a man who was once worthy of Steve Roger’s love.

Bucky isn’t that man anymore and he hasn’t been that man for a long time. He will never be that man again, not with Hydra’s poisonous programming still embedded deep inside of him.

If there is any chance of returning, any chance of _fixing_ him, Bucky will try it. But until then—until there’s a solid, tangible way—he needs to go back. He doesn’t want to. He wants to stay here with Steve, but the chances of hurting him are too high, and Steve is the last thing that Bucky will ever take risks with.

Bucky gathers the strength to look up. Steve hasn’t spoken, but he doesn’t need to. The agony in his eyes is evident. The tears spilling down his cheeks are a clear sign of anguish. And immediately, Bucky feels guilt swelling inside his chest.

This isn’t what he wanted; Steve’s expression is so broken that it hurts Bucky to look at him. Intuitively, Bucky reaches out and cups Steve’s cheek in his hand, running his thumb along his cheekbone.

“Christ, Stevie.” He whispers. When Bucky looks at Steve, he loses his way. When Bucky looks at Steve, he loses his resolve. “I’m sorry, I am.” Despite everything he knows, and everything he thinks, he can’t relinquish what he feels. His thoughts are swirling, whispers of _fix it, fix it, fix it_ swarming his consciousness.

And so Bucky kisses Steve with reckless abandon.

Because, he thinks, this will fix it.

He holds the side of Steve’s neck in his hand as he kisses him. Steve wraps both arms around Bucky, palms against his back, as he presses their chests together. Conflicting emotions well up inside Bucky but he pushes them down, so far down that the only things left is intuition. His intuition tells him to keep kissing Steve, to touch him softly, to _feel_ him and feel this in its entirety. Bucky realizes that this could ruin everything, could erase everything that he’s said so far, but for a moment, he wants to feel something other than pain and regret. And the things that Steve makes him feel are pure; the things that Steve makes Bucky feel are real, safe, and _good_.

Bucky lets his instincts take over. He leads Steve over to the couch and lies down, against the armrest. He tells Steve “It’s okay, it’s okay” as he pulls Steve down and joins their mouths again. The pillows find their way to the floor and Steve’s arms find their way around Bucky again. Steve’s mouth is hot and wet—and hungry. Bucky’s body craves Steve’s touch, the way a man in a desert craves water. He is giving in, now. Just allowing himself this _one_ moment, this peace, and all of the tenderness and love that Steve wants to give him.

He can’t tell how long they lie there together, kissing and touching, just holding one another. Steve finally pulls back, face flushed red, and he just gazes at Bucky like he’s the most gorgeous person in the world. There is still pain behind his eyes but it’s been clouded over by total affection. They rest on their sides, with Bucky’s injured shoulder on the outside, and Steve’s face in the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“I don’t want to leave you. Not anytime soon.” Bucky speaks gently. “But it has to happen, eventually.”

“I know,” Steve tells him. “You tried.”

“I did.” Bucky replies. “I wanted things to be different.”

“So did I.” Steve nestles deeper into Bucky’s neck and sighs against his skin. “I love you, Bucky. I do.”

Bucky whispers “I know” into Steve’s hair and closes his eyes, wondering what it would be like to love Steve too.

*

After having something to eat, the two of them decide to take another walk. Or rather, Steve decides that they should take a walk, because he can’t take being in that house anymore. He’s cursing himself over and over for his reckless, hasty decisions, but he finds it hard to regret finally telling Bucky the truth, a truth that had been _decades_ in the making.

As they walk, their fingers intertwine.

 _Maybe_ , Steve thinks, _when he’s better, maybe he’ll feel this too_.

They don’t revisit those moments aloud.

Steve is content with keeping them quiet, to himself, until Bucky is ready to talk about it—if he ever is.

They walk until their legs are too tired to carry them anymore. Later, when they get back to the safe house, they take turns in the shower, Steve first and then Bucky. When Bucky is out, Steve helps him dry his hair like he did the first night they arrived. Not because he has to, but because Bucky lets him, and because Bucky tells him that he likes it.

In the bedroom, Steve lies behind Bucky with his arms wrapped around his middle. Bucky falls asleep first and Steve lies awake, just raking his fingers through the other man’s hair, light enough not to wake him. He is thankful for these precious moments, for the moments where he’s allowed to be soft and gentle. He has been fighting for so long—they both have. It’s nice to moments peace.

Bucky is still for most of the night, but occasionally he tosses and turns in his sleep when the nightmares come. Steve keeps a loose hold on him, allowing him the space to move but staying close enough to make him feel safe, even in his sleep. When Steve falls asleep, he releases Bucky, rolls over onto his side of the bed and clutches a pillow instead. Exhausted, he sleeps deeply, so deeply that he doesn’t feel Bucky rise from the bed. He sleeps so deeply that he doesn’t feel Bucky wrapping his fingers around his throat, until Bucky starts squeezing, _choking_ him.

Steve’s eyes fly open and he’s gasping for air immediately, grabbing at Bucky’s right arm. In the dark, he can see Bucky’s listless eyes, dull and not alert. Steve then realizes that Bucky’s not awake. He’s not aware. He’s _asleep_.

“Bucky!” Steve cries out, grabbing at his arm to try and make him relinquish his hold. But Bucky is just as strong as Steve is, and it’s not that simple. “Bucky _wake up!_ ” He shouts. But Bucky’s silent, his eyes are dead, and he can’t hear Steve.

Steve doesn’t want to hurt him, but he can’t breathe anymore, and he’s out of options. With one swift move, Steve uses his elbow, and all of his strength, to break Bucky’s hold. He uses his forearm to shove Bucky off and onto the floor. He crashes with a heavy thud, landing on his back. Steve jumps up from the bed, panting heavily and preparing for Bucky to rise again, preparing to fight.

But that doesn’t happen.

Bucky wakes up. Slowly, achingly, he pushes himself up into a sitting position.

“What the hell…” He whispers. He looks up at Steve and immediately, he knows. It must have been the fear in Steve’s eyes or the red, finger-shaped marks on his neck. But realization hits Bucky like a brick. “What did I do to you?”

“You were just having another nightmare.” Steve says.

“You’re lying.” Bucky’s eyes are hard now, and they are lost. “I hurt you. God, I knew this would happen. I knew it.” Bucky’s voice is unsteady, cracking. Steve shakes his head, walks over and tries to help Bucky from the floor but Bucky flinches away from him. “Please, don’t. Don’t.” Steve pulls back instantly, trying not to be hurt by the fact that Bucky doesn’t want to be touched by him.

Bucky struggles to his feet, using the bed as leverage.

“Bucky, it’s okay—”

“It’s _not okay_!” Bucky shouts, voice raw. “You want it to be okay, but it’s not!” He grips his head at his temples, holding his face in his hand. He’s backing toward the door and Steve wants to stop him but he knows that Bucky won’t let him. “I’m sorry.” Bucky tells him. “I’m…I’ll sleep on the couch. Please don’t come.”

Bucky leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. Steve hears the television come on in the living room and he knows that Bucky isn’t going to watch it, nor is he going back to sleep. Steve himself won’t sleep either. He sits on the edge of the bed, massaging his neck, and contemplating what exactly he can do in the morning to make Bucky understand that it was an accident and that Steve knows Bucky would never hurt him on purpose.

Steve waits, all night long. He stays on the edge of the mattress, just staring out of the window and watching the sun rise.

When he feels like the time is right, he leaves the bedroom. The television is still on in the living room and he can hear it, loud and clear. But when he can finally see the couch, Bucky isn’t there.

Steve panics.

“Bucky?”

His voice echoes. The house is empty, and it probably has been empty for a while. He should’ve realized it last night.

Bucky isn’t here, but Steve has an idea of where he’s headed.

And he hopes he can stop him before it’s too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and giving kudos! Special thanks to all the folks who've subscribed to this fic. Y'all are the coolest! The next chapter will be the last, however this fic will be part of a larger series. So subscribe and stay tuned if you feel so inclined!  
> You can find me at aquaticqueer.tumblr.com if you want!


	8. Chapter 8

On the way back to the facility, Steve panics.

He knows that Bucky is there, because when Steve went to leave, to go out and search for Bucky, a car had already arrived for him. The driver addressed him as “Captain Rogers” and told him that he was here to escort him back. Of course, T’Challa would send for him. Of course. T’Challa is the one that Bucky went to in the first place, when he decided that he wanted to go under.

For all Steve knows, Bucky could already be gone.

Steve’s heart is in his throat and he’s battling overwhelming fear and anxiety.

The ride back is agonizingly long. Steve fidgets in the back seat, wringing his hands together, clenching and unclenching his fists—all of the adrenaline in his body pumps through every muscle.

 _What if I’m too late?_ Steve thinks. What if he gets there and Bucky is in the cryo chamber, frozen, unwilling to wake and unwilling to come back to him? Steve knows that ultimately, this would’ve been Bucky’s decision. But they had more time—Bucky was going to give them both more time. There was supposed to be more _time_.

When the car finally pulls to a stop, Steve breaks out. But his shoulders are immediately caught by two strong, firm hands.

“Whoa there, slow down!”

Steve realizes that it’s Sam who’s holding onto him. Steve knows that he could break out of this hold in less than a second, but Sam is his friend and there’s no need.

“Where is he?” Steve asks.

“He’s inside.” Sam tells him. “He’s resting. He was sedated.”

“ _Sedated?_ ” Steve repeats.

Sam still hasn’t released Steve. “Cap, when he came in, he was in hysterics. So T’Challa had him sedated. He’s fine. He’s safe.”

“I need to see him.” Steve says, firmness in his voice. He’s just about ready to move away from Sam when the other man starts shaking his head.

“That’s the thing. Barnes knew you would come, and he said that he doesn’t want to see you.”

Sam’s words hit Steve like a wrecking ball to the chest. Air leaves his lungs, as if he has truly been struck. He drags one hand along the side of his face, trying to keep it together when all he wants to do is fall apart. Sam instantly senses his distress and his arms suddenly come around Steve in a firm embrace. He doesn’t say anything and he does not ask Steve to explain. And Steve feels like maybe Sam’s arms are the only thing holding all of him together.

When they enter the facility, Steve demands to know where T’Challa is. Anger sits beside despair in his chest. His hands are shaking and his breathing comes in short bursts.

T’Challa appears, walking out into the open, seeming calm but also wary.

“Captain.” He greets Steve in a steady voice.

Steve forgoes the honorifics, the greetings, and courtesies.

“You can’t let him do this.” Steve’s voice is as unsteady as his trembling hands. “He’s upset. He’s making a mistake.”

T’Challa watches Steve silently, with a judgeless gaze.

“I understand your frustration. But Barnes came to me days before, in clear conscience, and expressed to me precisely what he wanted.”

Steve opens his mouth to protest, but T’Challa continues.

“I can understand the love you have for your friend. I can also understand the ways in which his decision might upset you, but it is _his_ decision, Captain. It is one that he made on his own, with no coercion or insight from anyone else. This is what he wants for himself.”

Sam’s beside Steve and his hand is on Steve’s shoulder.

“This is what he chose, Cap. You’ve gotta respect that.”

They’re right. Steve knows they’re right. No matter how much he wants to fight it, how much he wants to _change_ it, he knows that they are one-hundred percent right. This is Bucky’s choice—and when was the last time that Bucky got to make choices for himself? Seventy years of being used as Hydra’s attack dog with no autonomy, no agency—no _choices_.

Steve realizes what a fool he has been, what a hypocrite he’s become. Isn’t this what he fought for? Isn’t this why he didn’t sign the Accords? It would’ve taken away his right to choose—to choose where to go, who to fight for, and when to fight. _Choice_ is what started all of this trouble.

Slowly, but surely, Steve had almost done this to Bucky—he’d almost taken away his right to choose. The realization makes Steve sick to his stomach. This isn’t what he wanted; this isn’t the man he wanted to become. He loves Bucky—probably more than he’s ever loved anyone or anything in his life—but he can’t hold Bucky back from doing something he needs to do, while simultaneously claiming to love him. It’s not right—this isn’t who Steve is.

“You’re right.” Steve’s voice is small, devoid of all animosity and blame. “I’m sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize to me, Captain.” T’Challa assures him. “But when Barnes wakes, I believe you will have much to say to him.”

“I thought he didn’t want to see me?” Steve asks, hurt evident in his voice.

“I will speak with him.” T’Challa assures him. “Do not worry. All will be well.”

T’Challa leads Steve and Sam to the side of the facility that Steve recognizes, the section that most resembles a hospital. This is where he and Bucky were brought in at the beginning, when they had been near death, but still clinging to one another. Steve shuts his eyes and tries to forget. Tries to breathe. Tries to understand.

He and Sam sit in a small area with chairs and a TV playing silently on the wall, and Steve can’t help but be reminded of a waiting room. Some of T’Challa’s colleagues—researchers and scientists—rest here, sipping tea and chatting idly around them. One of them offers tea to the pair of them, but they both decline.

Sam rubs calming circles into Steve’s upper back. Steve holds his head in his hands, trying not to let his guilt overtake him.

How could he have been _so_ selfish? So selfish as to think that he could fix Bucky alone? To think that Bucky would magically be okay if they just ran away? As much as Steve loves Bucky, he should’ve known that love is not a cure-all. Neither is hope. There is something—someone—out there who can fix Bucky, who can heal his mind and cure it of Hydra’s poisonous conditioning. But Steve cannot be the cure.

Hours pass before T’Challa returns. He enters the area silently, beckoning for Steve to come forward.

“He’s awake and alert.” T’Challa informs. “And being prepped for the cryogenic chamber.”

Steve nods. His jaw is squared and he is determined not to ruin this.

“I can see him?”

T’Challa tells Steve yes.

He leads Steve through an empty hallway, and behind two doors that require biogenetic confirmation in order for him to receive access. When they enter the lab, Steve spots Bucky through the glass immediately. He’s dressed in white, and the silver stump where his arm used to be is in stark contrast to the immaculately white room. His hair hangs down at the sides of his face, and his eyes look tired. His body screams of exhaustion. How had Steve not noticed before, just how tired Bucky was? And how it was the sort of tired that could not be cured with just sleep.

“You can go inside and talk to him. He’s expressed his desire to see you.” T’Challa reassures him. Steve nods again, taking in a deep breath.

When he goes through the doors, he sticks his hands deep into his pockets. He fearfully eyes the cryo chamber and thinks _this is where he will be, this is where I have to leave him._ But he pushes the fear down, deep down.

Bucky’s watching him now, and when their eyes meet, there is a certain sorrow there that just makes Steve’s heart ache. 

He stops in front of Bucky, eyes lingering. He can’t find the right words—there are no right words.

“You sure about this?” His voice is heavy yet steady, unshaking.

Bucky looks away now, stares forward at the cryo chamber in front of him. His voice is raspy, almost ragged.

“I can’t trust my own mind.” He says. When he looks up at Steve, Bucky smiles, bittersweet and melancholy. “So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing.” He pauses, sighing. “For everybody.”

Steve doesn’t fight. He doesn’t protest or argue, or try to change Bucky’s mind. He just nods slowly and chooses careful words.

“If this is what you want, then it’s the best choice.” Steve tells him. “Because it’s your choice.”

Bucky lets out a breath so heavy that it’s as if he’s been holding it for days. Relief is clear in his eyes, and the way his face relaxes after Steve speaks. This is what he needed—not to be saved or changed, but just understood. Supported.

“Thank you, Steve. _Thank_ _you_.” Bucky whispers. Steve doesn’t know what thread is holding him in one piece, but he looks into Bucky’s red-rimmed eyes and realizes that it might be tearing. “T’Challa says that he’s going to try his best to find something that can help…deprogram. But until then, I’ll be in cryosleep.” Bucky pauses, reaching out and taking Steve’s hand. “Hey—I have hope. I believe he’ll find something.”

“I hope he does.” Steve tells him. “I do.”

Bucky grips Steve’s hand tightly. “I’m sorry that I left you. And I’m sorry for what I did. For hurting you.”

“It wasn’t you.”

“It was.” Bucky says, his eyes meeting Steve’s again. “It _was_ me, Steve. No matter how much I fight it, I’m still the soldier. I’m still the man who killed innocent people. I’m still the man who tried to hurt _you_.” Bucky shakes his head. “This part of me…I can’t get rid of it. And I can’t pretend that it doesn’t exist.”

Steve nods. He is trying to understand and, with time, he thinks he will. But right now it’s hard, with his heart beating out of his chest and tears brimming the corners of his eyes. He won’t cry though, because he doesn’t want Bucky to feel guilty.

He lifts Bucky’s knuckles to his mouth and kisses them gently, sighing against his skin. He doesn’t care that the doctors are watching them. The only thing that matters is that Bucky is right in front of him, for what could be the last time for a long time.

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

Bucky’s face breaks into another bittersweet smile. He pulls Steve’s hand, pulls him closer. Bucky rests his hand at the base of Steve’s neck and pulls him into a deep, slow kiss. Steve holds both sides of Bucky’s face and breathes in his scent for the last time.

When they part, Bucky presses his forehead against Steve’s and gazes into his eyes.

“And I’ll be waiting to come back to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all SO much for reading this fic! I hope that you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. As stated before, this fic will be apart of a larger series (that I will probably update like, tomorrow) so please subscribe if you want to keep hanging on!  
> Come find me on tumblr at aquaticqueer.tumblr.com!  
> Thanks again--y'all are wonderful people!


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